#################### Part 1 ####################################
My phone ringing woke me out of a dead sleep "Hmphuuh.. hello...?"
"Matt ... did I wake you dear?"
I rubbed sleep from my eyes and brought my phone screen into focus. It was Miranda Howland-Ross, my client who was into remote control sex toys. And it was 1 am.
"No ... no ... I was up ... reading the bible." I said sarcastically, trying to clear my voice of sleep.
Miranda laughed "I doubt it." There was a slight alcohol induced slur in her words. "Listen love, I have a friend in town ..."
A second giggly female voice in the background interrupted "A horny friend ...."
"Susanna! Stop!" Miranda said, unsuccessfully trying to cover the mic on her phone. "Matt dear, I know it's a beastly hour, but would you consider ..."
I sighed a little internally. Late night calls like this weren't common these days, but not unheard of. Back when I was still using being a driver for a well-known ride service as a cover for my real business, I sometimes gave late night "rides". But thanks to a highly specialized and wealthy clientele, namely wives of wealthy but inattentive men, I had my own "Limousine" service, by referral only of course.
"What's her name and where am I picking her up?"
"Her name is Susannah Cuyper-Van Alten..."
"Suzi-SUE!!!" the other much more inebriated voice squealed.
"Suzi to her friends, and you're picking us both up. I'll send you the address."
I got the text. "Okay Miranda. I'll see you in about 30 minutes."
"Thank you dear. It'll be worth your while." Miranda hung up, but not before I heard them both giggle like schoolgirls. I rolled my eyes, but knew that Miranda paid very well, and if I was servicing both of them it was likely to be a lucrative night.
I rolled out of bed and dragged myself to the bathroom for a quick shower and shave.
################ Part 2 #######################################
Thirty minutes later I pulled my new black Tesla Model S into the parking lot of an upscale bar in Scottsdale. I had come a long way from my used Acura.
The wealthy bar crowd was starting to spill out in advance of last call, but I spotted Miranda's athletic figure and lovely brunette hair. She was dressed in a cream-colored polished cotton mid-thigh length sheath dress which complimented her 50-year-old tennis toned figure and tanned powerful legs that tapered down into a pair of matching expensive peep toe pumps. She was arm-in-arm with a short woman, maybe 5'3", with a head full of honey blond curls. She was roughly Miranda's age with a peaches and cream complexion and a figure I would describe as "curvy". She was poured into a very short red shiny dress with a low-cut neckline, her large breasts jiggling and threatening to spill out. Red thigh high fine fishnets encased her legs, which looked surprisingly powerful, and she was shod in a pair of strappy heels.
I tapped the horn button to get their attention. Miranda spotted me and grinned broadly, waving and pulling her friend into a wobbly trot towards my car. They tumbled in, giggling with girlish excitement fueled by alcohol.
"Matt, this is my dear friend Susannah Cuyper-Van Alten. We played lacrosse together at prep-school and college."
"Ma'am." I replied, nodding and smiling at Susannah in the rear view.
"Oh my, so polite" she said grinning. She had a slight accent, Dutch maybe? "Call me Suzi."
"Nice to meet you, Suzi." I said.
She laughed, leaned back and kicked one of her legs up onto my shoulder, wiggling her foot. "You like my feet?"
Miranda laughed "SUZI!! Patience dear!" Suzi pulled her foot down with a playful pout. I had a sense of what Suzi was into now.
"They are very nice Suzi." I said "So, where to ladies?"
"I booked the Presidential at the Phoenician dear." Miranda said. I nodded, not surprised in the least. Miranda, thanks to her husband and a successful career of her own, was well-healed, both literally and figuratively.
################ Part 3 #######################################
The Presidential Suite at the Phoenician is pretty much what it sounds like. Larger than your average suburban home, its sprawling single level is an elegantly decorated one bedroom getaway with a huge furnished balcony overlooking the adjacent golf course, complete with a large, raised gas fire pit. Which is where I was ensconced on a heavily pillowed low sofa with my usual soft drink, Miranda and Suzi on either side of me.
The fire was blazing merrily, taking the gentle chill off the desert night. We could hear the distant rhythmic "Tsssst .... Tsssst .... Tsssst" of the sprinklers on the golf course underneath the low rumble of the gas-jet fire coming up through the rocks of the fire pit. We had spent the time since we had checked into the room chatting, Suzi plying me with questions on how I had come to be in my current line of work, which I responded with very limited answers. I normally trusted any referral from regular clients like Miranda, but they were both quite tipsy and I was concerned she had not been as discerning with Suzi. I turned the tables on Suzi instead.
"So, Suzi, your accent ... Dutch?"
"You have a nice ear Matt. Yes, but I have been in the U.S. since high school. Miranda and I have been the dearest of friends ....
"... a little more than friends for a few years." Miranda inserted, laughing low and seductively around a sip of white wine from her oversized wine glass.
"Oh?" I encouraged.
Suzi snuggled into my shoulder and sighed. "You know how it is in college Matt ... 'Gay until Graduation'." She had only sipped her wine since we sat down and was easing into an easy, post drinking jag relaxed mood. "But that was then. This is now." She slipped a hand up under my loose silk button down shirt and nuzzled my neck.
"So, a threesome then?" I asked.
